


Frogs

by ShameInYou



Category: Alice in Chains
Genre: Angst, Drugs, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShameInYou/pseuds/ShameInYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Layne reflects on his life while waiting for the new millennium to kick in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frogs

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=hjmJjVWIELA
> 
> If you know the lyrics to the song "Frogs" then you will know why I named the story this.

A TV flicker, volume on low. The hum of the central air could be heard. Layne cleared his throat, leaning forward, grabbing a Styrofoam cup that sit on his coffee table, which was littered with unread TV guides and needles and spoons and various other drug paraphernalia.

He spit his cold into the cup, setting it back down. He stared idly at the TV, devoid of any emotion, any feeling. His cat Sadie, jumped onto the black leather sofa, walking down and across his lap. He blindly reached out, running his hand along her back and her tail as she walked by, jumping off of the couch and disappearing into the condo.

The ex-Alice in Chains singer was a total shell of his former self. He never left his condo unless he had to. He was tired of the world. He had given up. He couldn't take any more of the betrayals and the bullshit.

People were cruel. Humanity was a waste. The only people he kept in touch with were his mother Nancy, his sister Liz, and of course, his drug dealer.

He was dependent on the stuff now, it was sustenance. His body needed it like a diabetic needed insulin. He was too far gone. He sighed as he sat there, thinking of how many times he had tried rehab. Rehab just didn't work for him. They didn't really care. No one really cared. No matter how hard they all tried, he could see through their lies.

It was going to be okay they said. No, it was never going to be okay and Layne finally realized this.

Layne frowned as he stared blankly at the TV. The people celebrating, partying, happy faces. The new millennium, what would that bring? People were just going to be the same fucking way. Cruel, heartless and conceited.

Layne sighed as he thought about all the fucked up events in his life. He thought about how his father had left when he was little, how that had affected him. How his dad had did drugs with him in the 90s, when he tried to reconnect with him. He thought about how he was here, like scum on a trashcan, swimming in this shit, addicted to the point of near death, to the point where his organs were shutting down, and his dad was clean and off the stuff.

It angered him. His dad was the one who had got him hooked on this shit in the first place.

Layne thought about Demri. He smiled to himself. Demri. He missed her. She was the only woman who had truly understood him, that is, until the drugs came into play. They had turned this sweet, pixie-like, beautiful and charming and boisterous woman into this cruel, manipulative, evil witch. She was spending all of his money, she was spiting him when he tried to get her help but refusing to give her any more money.

There was a time when he thought that they could get clean together. They could get clean and then they could get married and then she could mother a child for him. But the drugs had gotten to her. They made her selfish and greedy. All she saw was that Layne had money, that Layne was addicted and that she could get what she needed through Layne.

But a lot of people seemed to feel that way about Layne. Layne was no fool. He could see through everyone's bullshit.

Demri had really broken Layne's heart. When Layne tried to put his foot down about this drug situation, because he wanted to get clean, she'd fight him on it. She'd do spiteful shit like fuck her girlfriend in the bed they shared. That unclean bed.

The final straw for Layne was when Demri got arrested for prostitution. It was embarrassing and it was pathetic. She was so far gone on the H that she would do any fucking thing for it. It made Layne realize, that maybe this wasn't right. He wanted to get better. He couldn't have her in his life anymore, so he cut her out of it.

Not too long after, he had received word that she died. She died from a dirty needle, it infected the lining of her heart and she died.

A lot of people died from this though, and Layne was pretty sure his time was coming soon. He didn't care anymore. What was the point of living anymore? The band was ruined. He had no one to live for. He felt like a waste of space, just a thing for people to take advantage of.

He thought about the record company and how they had done him. The music business was full of bullshit. The record execs knew that Layne was bad off on the H. Instead of helping him, they filled Jerry's head with extravagant ideas. That Jerry could lead AiC into future success.

Layne frowned when he thought about it.

Jerry wouldn't have been SHIT without him. Layne was the one who took Jerry in when he first ventured to Seattle. Layne was the one who gave Jerry food and clothes. Layne was the one who brought Jerry's lyrics to life. Something that Jerry had trouble doing. Layne was the one who encouraged Jerry to sing. And now Jerry had taken all of that and went over Layne's head. He was fucking blind. He couldn't see what the record company was doing.

All the fucking record company saw was fucking dollar signs. They wanted to keep taking this Alice in Chains thing, this thing that Layne and Jerry had built up together, they wanted to take it and fucking run with it. And with Layne obviously suffering and dying and sick, they decided to hold Jerry up on the high horse. Layne had a message he needed to get out and Jerry had fought him on it left and right.

Layne remembered the Get Born Again sessions. That was the last time he had physically seen Jerry. Jerry was such a fucking asshole. They had to do this fucking thing, because they needed to finish out their contract with the record company. Jerry had to be moved to another room because he was so hot headed and had a big ego. He practically screamed at Layne the whole time. He told Layne he wasn't singing right, he wasn't doing this right or that right.

Jerry Cantrell was a fucking asshole and as far as Layne was concerned, they were no longer friends anymore.

The guys in Alice had the fucking nerve to go do a radio show without Layne.

Layne had still been in the fucking band! Layne wasn't fucking stupid. He had internet access, he kept up with the news of the band he was supposed to be in.

He had to call into the fucking radio station to be apart of the conversation, and then the fucking DJ put him on hold! Layne was a big part of Alice in Chains and they were treating him like he was nothing.

He was nothing.

Layne was done. Layne was done with them all. Fuck 'em. He made his decisions. He made it. They all sold him out. They all left him to die. No one really cared. No one cared.

He was content with his life. At least he could find his happiness in doses.

Layne laughed to himself, shaking his head. He ran his hands over his pale face. He had lost a bunch of weight. He was NOTHING like his former self.

He was at his peak during the Dirt album. Layne smiled to himself. That was the best time in his life.

But those times were over now.

Now he had sores all over his forehead, his fingers were burnt from heroin use and his fingernails were long and dirty. His hair was falling out, it was long and stringy. Half of the teeth in his mouth had rotted out. Just the other day he bit into a candy bar and a piece of one of this teeth broke off. He spit it out into the trashcan.

Layne's nostrils were inflamed from the coke and the spray paint. Sometimes the H slowed him down and he needed a bump.

It had gotten real bad. Real bad. Real bad to the point that he would pay his drug dealer to go out and get food for his cat. Layne had learned the art of ordering online and paying bills online. He never left his condo.

Every now and then "friends" would come by and knock on his door for hours. There was nothing anyone could do for him. He was far gone.

And he understood this. He understood that he was just waiting to die. The world would be a better place without him. Everyone had done nothing but step on him.

His whole life. He had been taken advantage of, treated cruelly. Tears welled up in his eyes.

He was severely underrated. He remembered the Grammies, 1997. They were nominated. He had left his home just to go to that stupid fucking show. He was feeling bad. Everyone was in his face. They lost.

What a fucking disgrace. His music was not appreciated by the mainstream. He felt sorely misunderstood.

Those were great times, back in the early 90s. Times he would never get back. Now he sit here, rotting on his couch, in his condo, the TV flickering, ushering in a new year.

Layne sniffled, reaching a shaky hand up to wipe his eye. It sucked man. It sucked that it had to be like this. This definitely wasn't the way he thought his life would have turned out.

Alone and having no one.

But again, this was the decision he had made. To cut all the toxic people out. No one wanted to help him. Everyone was out to get him.

No one fucking cared about him. No one.

Layne sat there and watched the TV as it flickered. The countdown to the New Year was beginning.

The new Millennium.

Layne watched as the crowd cheered and the countdown started in New York, on the other side of the United States.

"5...4...3...2..1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The ball dropped and lights went off and everyone cheered and confetti was thrown and music started playing and all was right with the world.

In their worlds.

To Layne, this was just the beginning of another shitty year. The world was an evil place and it wasn't going to get any better. Each year the world got worse and worse, with the wars, the fighting.

Layne was at war with himself constantly, and the war was over. The devil had won.

Layne lay back against the cushions, grabbing a spray paint can, ready to get a buzz while he waited for the next delivery. He would do anything to get off. He didn't fucking care anymore.

And so he sat there, in his condo, alone, on the dawn of the new Millennium, with the can of spray paint against a sock. He sprayed it and quickly put the sock over his nose, inhaling the poisonous fumes, feeling that familiar, warming and dizzy feeling wash over him.

Just enough until the next drop.

Layne stared idly at the television, his arms on the couch on either side of him as he sat there during his buzz.

"Happy fucking new year." He lisped through blackened and decayed teeth.

He lay there, eyes growing heavy as some POP boy band started dancing in the middle of the New York crowd, lip syncing and celebrating the new year.

Layne closed his eyes and fell sideways against the couch, drifting off. Sadie climbed on the couch and curled up near her owner, sleeping soundly.

The TV flicker, volume on low. The hum of the central air could be heard and the sounds of people who had their whole lives ahead of them on the TV.

Layne's life was over.


End file.
